Never Too Late
by distorted-me
Summary: Harry and Draco come together after the war, but not in the fluffy 'meant to be together' ways they have before. This story is NOT for the faint of heart. What happens to a hero once they have completed their quest? The world abandons them. That's what. ON HIATUS.
1. Chapter 1

**Chapter One: The World Abandons Their Savior**

 **A/N:** This story is inspired by _Three Days Grace "Never Too Late."_ This started out as a oneshot, but those damn voices in my head are screaming for something more. They've just bought my muchness back from the Hatter, and they want me to be much more...muchier.

 **Summary:** Harry and Draco come together after the war, but not in the fluffy 'meant to be together' ways they have before. This story is NOT for the faint of heart. What happens to a hero once they have completed their quest? The world abandons them. That's what.

 **WARNINGS:** TRIGGERS include suicidal thoughts, a batch of foiled suicide attempts, cutting/self harm, and abandonment issues. There is no Dark!Harry here, because as Sirius so beautifully said "We've all got both light and dark inside us. What matters is the part we choose to act on. That's who we really are." Harry, is simply Harry. After all, he can't ever be a truly Light!Harry, because he was tainted by the evil soul of Lord Voldemort for neigh 18 years. Food for thought...

Voldemort was defeated, and the Light had won, but at great cost. When all was said and done; when the celebrations had died down, and the fallen had been laid to rest; when the physical damage had been repaired; the survivors of the Great War looked for someone to blame. Logic would point us to Tom Riddle. He let darkness and hatred consume him. He manifested ideas of dictatorship and racial cleansing. He adopted an evil persona and in his quest for a 'perfect' world, led a mass genocide matched only by that of Hitler. Logic would also point us to Albus Dumbledore. The greatest wizard of our time, Headmaster Dumbledore was most capable of squashing the rise of Lord Voldemort before it even started. Albus publically admitted that at his first meeting with an 11 year old Tom Riddle he sensed a great evil. He would even admit to those closest to him that while at school, young Mr. Riddle exhibited several unsavory behaviors and spoke quiet frequently about an array of disturbing topics. Why then, did Dumbledore allow this boy to continue his education? Why not push to have him expelled? His wand snapped. Why not give the orphan special attention? Work to shift his talents to something much more positive and productive? Why not curse him into oblivion as soon as he made his first stand?

Common sense, a close relative to logic, would have us taking a closer look at our leadership. Where was the Ministry of Magic in all of this? Why did not one, but **four** Ministers turn a blind eye to the threat that stood directly before them? How is it that the enemy so thoroughly infiltrated the government? Why was a prophecy so wholly followed, when the person it referred to as a Hero, couldn't even speak when it was made? For surely common sense would tell you such a thing was preposterous. No one in their right mind would expect a **child** to save the world.

But wars do funny things to people. Logic is thrown out the window, and common sense is forgotten. Mass hysteria descends, and 'mob mentality' takes over. And so, even though there were scores of fully trained witches and wizards, and an entire force of Aurors, some with more than twenty years' experience, the only person Wizarding Britain saw fit to blame for their woes was Harry Potter, The-Boy-Who-Lived-To-See-All-His-Loved-Ones-Die-Or-Abandon-Him. Nobody stopped to ask if he was okay, because he was the ' _Chosen One_ ', and as long as he did his job no one gave a damn. But what they couldn't know what that no one blamed Harry Potter more for what happened, than Harry Potter himself.

 _"This world will never be, What I expected. And if I don't belong, Who would have guessed it."_

Harry had, very stupidly in his opinion, thought that once the war was over, he would finally have a chance at a normal life. Now he was realizing just how wrong he was turning out to be. The ghosts of his loved ones plagued his dreams, and the families of the fallen filled his days. And the worst part was that he was now at the top of the Ministry's 'Most Wanted' list for the senseless murder of one Quirinus Quirrell (when he was eleven, and in self-defense, mind you), harboring the dangerous fugitive Sirius Black (whom they seemed to have forgotten had been posthumously pardoned on all charges), the attempted murder of Peter Pettigrew (so he had cashed in his life debt with the man in a way that was both strategically and mortally risky. Wormtail was a coward, and a traitor, and a Death Eater to boot), and for complicity to commit murder (he had no way of knowing that damn cup was a port key. And he hadn't wanted the extra fame. The ghost of Cedric Diggory still haunted his dreams). Trumped up charges, the lot of them. Yet no one came to his defense now that their savior wasn't needed. Not that there was anyone left to care. Remus and Tonks were dead. Andromeda had taken Teddy and gone into hiding (lycanthropy was an automatic death sentence these days). Sirius had fallen through the Veil. Hagrid was missing. McGonagall had a school to run. Severus was in Azkaban. Dumbledore was dead (and good riddance to him!). Fred was…gone. Ginny had been driven mad. And the Weasleys blamed Harry.

The first time Harry considered ending it all, he had convinced himself that is was a coward's way out. Two weeks later found him standing in the kitchen of Number 12 Grimmuald Place with a knife in his hand trying to figure out how he had gotten there in the first place. The feel of the knife against his skin was the first real feeling he had had in some time, and as he lay on the floor bleeding out with no one to save him, he felt at peace with the world and his decision to leave it. Unfortunately for him, Magic had other plans and so he found himself in a muggle facility two weeks later, being referred to as Mr. Smith, unable to remember how he had incurred his injuries.

As fate would have it though, his life came rushing back to him in a series of nightmares, and so he discharged himself from hospital and quietly went on his way. He tried to keep a low profile, but it got so bad that he had to block his floo, and spell his home against owl post. Eventually he hid under a Fidelus Charm and so the phone calls and muggle post stopped as well. And when news came on the underground that Harry Potter had a bounty on his head, he resigned himself to the fact that the world he had called home for neigh ten years no longer wanted him. He laughed bitterly at the fact that now he truly belonged nowhere. He loved magic too much to ever live as a muggle, and wizards loathed him too deeply to ever let him stay in their world in peace. He thought then, that had he known what he was fighting for even a year ago, he may have let Ol' Snake Face win.

 _"I will not leave alone, Everything that I own, To make you feel like it's not too late. It's never too late."_

He had one destination in Knockturn Alley and then the great Harry Potter would be no more, or so the plan was. Looking back on it, Harry should have remembered that nothing ever went according to plan when he was involved. Taking a deep breath Harry entered the dark alley and then slid quietly into the newest shop to occupy space, Tenebris. He had heard, through various shady conversations, that this particular store offered several very rare potions ingredients, and that for the right price, would brew any potion you desired, legal or not. Fortunately for Harry he had emptied the entirety of his vaults, some nine million galleons, just days before the final battle, so money was not hard to come by.

He had spent days pouring through various potions journals looking for the right combination of poisons before finally settling on a simple vial of Essence of Belladonna. Exceptionally rare, and with no known antidote, Harry would be free of this mortal realm within mere moments.

"Can I help you?" asked the greasy hunchback behind the counter.

"I was told that I might procure a vial of Essence of Belladonna from this fine establishment," Harry said, his voice deep and soft like velvet.

The man eyed him suspiciously.

"I don't know who told you that, but I am sure you are quite aware that pure Essence of Belladonna is illegal to sell, and highly expensive to obtain."

"I am painfully aware, I'm afraid. However I have funds for both your time, and your silence, and I will pay double if you have the product in hand. And we need not worry about legalities. We do not see eye to eye, the Ministry and I."

"What do you need it for?"

"Personal matter I'm afraid."

"We don't—"

"I can assure you, I don't intend to murder anyone, if that is what you fear. As I said, it is a personal matter, and I would prefer to have it in hand before I depart on my…mission."

"Ah! A failsafe then!" the man said with a sudden understanding in his eyes.

"Yes," Harry said, smirking from underneath the hood of his cloak.

"The owner isn't here, and he has the only key to our more valuable items. If you don't care to wait, he should return momentarily."

"Of course," Harry said with a half bow.

Ten minutes later the bell above the door sounded and the last person Harry wanted to see entered the shop.

"Master Draco," the clerk greeted in a greasy tone.

"Nigel," Draco returned.

"Mr.—"

"Evans," Harry supplied.

"Mr. Evans desires a word with you in regards to some rare ingredients, Master Draco."

Harry inwardly rolled his eyes but outwardly took stock of the man, forcibly reminding himself that even if he recognized Draco, Draco would be unable to recognize him.

"Mr. Evans," Draco greeted, offering him a hand.

Harry shook it, unsure of how to address his former schoolmate.

"Shall we take this to my office?" Draco asked.

Harry could only nod.

"Can I offer you a drink, Mr. Evans?"

"No, thank you," said Harry, eyeing a particularly well aged bottle of Ogden's Finest with longing.

"What can I assist you with today?"

"I require only one ingredient, and your silence. I will pay double if you can provide the item today."

"And what is that, Mr. Evans?"

"Essence of Belladonna, Sir."

Draco's eyebrows shot into his hairline.

"Pardon my shock, Sir, but that is extremely rare, and highly regulated by the Ministry. What do you intend to use it for if I may ask?"

"A failsafe."

"For what? All it would serve as is a quick and irreversible—"

"I see you've caught on. My line of work is highly dangerous. As such I cannot even begin to fathom the number of hit lists I top. I know far too much to allow myself to be captured. For the purposes of my clients' safety and security I would forfeit my life, and my clients' pay me insanely well for it."

"What exactly is it that you do? Mr. Evans?"

"It's classified."

Draco wasn't sold. His father hadn't raised him to be stupid, and he hadn't escaped Azkaban without knowing how to play his cards. There was something more to this 'Mr. Evans'.

"You seem awfully calm for a man contemplating suicide," mused Draco.

"We all die in the end do we not?" countered Harry.

"Yes. We do. And some of us are already dead men walking."

"Touché," agreed Harry with a tilt of his head.

"You will understand, I am sure, that I require payment upfront, in cash, and a signature of release in order to sell you this item. It's a simple contract that states I educated you on the uses of this ingredient, that you release me from responsibility should anything unsavory occur while using your purchase, and that our dealings here are 100% confidential."

"Of course. Name your price."

"1,000 galleons if you want it today."

Harry didn't even flinch as he placed the money pouch on Draco's desk.

"Contract?" he asked.

"I require signature with a blood quill. That way we are both magically bound to honor it. A fail safe for us both if you will."

"Acceptable," Harry noted.

Draco brought out a contract and an ornate wooden box housing a simple blood quill. Signing his part of the contract Draco never even flinched as the quill cut into the back of his hand. Harry signed his part of the contract _Harrison Evans_ and watched as the parchment briefly glowed. It was to his great horror that he watched his signature change from what he had provided to _Harry Potter_ and felt his glamour fade.

"Potter!" Draco exclaimed in shock, throwing up several silencing and protection charms.

"Malfoy," Harry returned, trying to stay calm.

"What are you? Wait…why are? You do realize there is a bounty on your head, right?"

"Yes. 3 million galleons dead or alive. Preferably alive, but the reward stands regardless," said Harry in defeated resignation.

"Why should I sell you anything? I could redeem my family's honor by turning you in! I'm sure you are aware that my office is warded so only my magic will work?" Draco sneered.

"Dead or alive, Draco. I'll give you 2,000 galleons right now and end it all here. You alert the Ministry. Tell them I held you at gunpoint. It's a muggle weapon. Forced you to provide me with a means to my end. Either way, you win. Draco Malfoy finally bests Harry Potter, and you are an outstanding citizen in the eyes of the Ministry."

"Why should I help you? I've worked hard to get where I am. The Ministry has me on a five year probation. I'm already two years in. In another three, I can have everything back. Or I could turn you in today, and have it all back tomorrow."

"I won't go alive, Draco. There will be no trial. No Kiss. You know those charges are ludicrous. I'll be tortured. The Ministry's plaything. Just let me die. Collect your reward. I have nothing left to live for."

Draco was floored. Harry Potter was as Gryffindor as they came. All bravery and charging head first for what he believed in. This man before him was a broken shell, seeking death with open arms.

"You have everything left to live for," countered Draco.

Harry barked out a bitter laugh.

"My whole life has been a lie. I was a tool and now my job is done. My mother was murdered. My Godparents are dead. My father is in Azkaban. My Godson forced into hiding. My friends all killed. My fiancé drove mad. And money talks. Loudly. So what exactly am I supposed to have left, Malfoy?"

"I won't help you do this, Harry. I do, contrary to popular belief, have morals. Assisting in the suicide of a half decent human being is beneath me."

"I will pay you. Whatever you want. Besides, the contract is signed. We have a magically binding business agreement."

"I don't need your money, Potter. I don't want it. I have enough demons to deal with without adding your tormented soul. If you want to off yourself, you'll have to find some other way."

"There is no other way," Harry whispered.

His eyes were haunted.

"Of course there is!"

"No. I'm defective. My magic won't let me die. I've tried. I've tried _everything_."

" **Everything**?" asked Draco in morbid fascination.

" _Everything_ ," Harry simply stated.

"Like what?"

"Gunshot to the head. Walking into oncoming traffic. Driving off of a cliff. Setting my house on fire while in it. Overdosing on whatever I could get my hands on. Slitting my wrists. The Killing Curse. Snake venom."

Draco didn't know whether to be sick or impressed.

"And you think that this is going to work?" he asked.

Harry just shrugged. "It's worth a shot."

Draco shook his head.

"What happened Harry?"

"What do you mean?"

"This isn't you! What happened to the Harry Potter I went to school with?"

"He died."

"You don't have to do this. There are other ways. Leave the country. Go into hiding. Seek help from your friends," said Draco.

"I can't leave. They have an extradition order in place. Besides, I'm tired of running. I'm sick of hiding. And I won't endanger my friends. They have lives."

"I…damnit! I can't believe I'm saying this," frowned Draco. "I could hide you. I have a secret cottage in France. A safe house if you will. It was left to my mother by her Aunt Cassiopeia so the Ministry couldn't seize it when they took the Malfoy Estate. It is under Fidelus and my secret keeper is bound by the confidentiality clauses of his profession. He can neither disclose its whereabouts, or occupants."

"Why are you doing this, Draco?"

"My mother owed you a life debt, Potter. When she passed on, it transferred to me. Consider this an extension of our business agreement, and repayment of that debt."

"How will this work?"

"The Cottage can only be accessed from the Floo here in this office. I will send you through now. Kipsy is my house elf. She will be expecting you. I shall join you at the end of business day to finalize the details. I expect my solicitor will join us. Owl post doesn't work so if there's something you need, drop your request in the Floo and speak my name."

"Draco, I—"

"Don't. I don't like you Potter, but I don't hate you enough to see you dead."

And with that Draco threw a handful of Floo powder into the fire, spoke something in French, and shoved Harry through.


	2. Chapter 2

**Chapter Two: Coup de Grace**

The living room Harry stumbled into was modest. Cozy. It was done in warm earth tones with a big comfy couch and a TV.

"Is Masters Guest needing anything?" squeaked a house elf.

"Um…" Harry was at a loss. "A shower maybe? And some clothes?"

"Follow Kipsy," it said and trekked off down the hall.

The room Harry was shown to was equally lovely. Tan walls. Cream carpet. Huge bed.

"Bathroom is through that door. Kipsy will find you some clothes."

"Thank you, Kipsy."

The elf simply bowed and left.

Harry stayed in the shower until the water turned cold, lost in thoughts of everything that had happened, and confused as to what he should do now. Getting out and toweling off, Harry found an acceptable change of clothes, presumably Draco's, on the bed. He was surprised to find they fit him quiet well. He must have lost some weight, he mused. He had always been just a bid broader than Draco.

"You look like shite, mate," the mirror said.

Harry couldn't disagree. Dark bags under his eyes, limp brown hair, and protruding bones; all the product of a life on the run.

"Can Kipsy be getting Master Draco's guest anything else? Tea and pastries is fresh."

"Tea would be fantastic," he replied.

"Follow Kipsy."

The aroma of freshly baked food hit Harry as soon as he entered the hallway and suddenly his mouth watered. Harry couldn't remember the last time he had had a decent meal. Three days after the final battle, perhaps? When he entered the kitchen the table was filled with every kind of pastry and sweet imaginable.

"Wow," was all he managed.

"Kipsy be knowing who Master Draco's guest is, even if she isn't supposed to be. But your secret is safe with me Harry Potter, Sir. Dobby was Kipsy's best elf friend, even after he became a free elf, and Harry Potter, Sir treated Dobby like family. All of Dobby's elf friends remember that, Harry Potter, Sir. Kipsy is a smart elf. It's why Master Draco lets her stay. I know you is hiding from the bad men, but you is innocent, Harry Potter. Dobby claimed you as family, and family you is. The house elves will remember that, Harry Potter, Sir, when the last stand comes."

And with that, Kipsy disappeared.

By the time Draco stepped through the Floo, Harry was well fed, with a pounding headache. He had spent the remainder of the day mulling over Kipsy's words, and trying to figure out what she had meant by ' _last stand_ '.

"You in here Potter?" Draco called from the living room.

"On the porch," he called back.

Draco stepped outside followed by Blaise Zabini.

"You all are going to murder me, aren't you?" Harry asked.

"Not today, Potter. Blaise is my solicitor, and a damned good one at that."

"So it's down to business?"

"For now."

"Where's the contract?"

"There isn't one for now," said Blaise. "We have a few things we need to discuss first."

"What is there to discuss?" bit Harry. "I'm a suicidal fugitive, being held against my will, in an undisclosed location, with a creepy house elf, and a charmed letter box."

"Be that as it may, Potter, we have business to attend to. Like your impending demise. Come tomorrow, you shall die. On record, anyway,"

"How's that? The Ministry will require my body."

"And so they shall have it," smirked Blaise.

"So I really am going to die."

"No, Scarhead. I'm going to give you Draught of Living Death, drag your 'corpse' to the Ministry, where Healer Parkinson will declare you dead, and Auror Nott will assume control of your body, which he will dump into a criminal's grave, and have the whole world done with you. We will then sneak in, replace your body with a golem, feed you Wiggenweld Potion, and in forty-eight hours you will be a free man. You'll have to come up with a new identity, obviously, but that shouldn't be too hard, even for you," explained Draco.

"And if we get caught, we'll all wind up in Azkaban," Harry snorted.

"We won't get caught," said Blaise.

"Why are you all risking your lives to save me? I mean, it can't be for the money."

"It is, actually," Blaise said, completely straight faced.

"That's a lot of galleons," Draco agreed.

"Not split four ways," Harry pointed out.

"Do you know why I am on probation with the Ministry Potter?" Draco asked, looking at the man.

"Because you were a Death Eater?" Harry said, slightly confused by the question.

Blaise covered his laugh with a cough.

"Where is my Dark Mark then?" Draco asked, pulling up his sleeves to reveal flawless, unmarked skin.

"But-"

Harry was confused. Dark Marks couldn't be concealed by any form of magic out there.

"You've used concealer," he reasoned, to which Draco shook his head.

"Try washing it off," Draco said.

"I've never had one. The one you saw that night in the Tower was a fraud. We were trying to trick the idiot Dumbledore."

"I don't get it," Harry said as his world once again spiraled into chaos.

"Everything you know is a lie, Mr. Potter," Blaise said.

"We are here to show you the truth."

"What truth?" Harry asked.

"Dumbledore and Voldemort were pawns," Draco said calmly.

"We were ALL pawns. Why do you think Sims took such a strong hold over the magical community?"

Harry just shrugged.

"Because he thinks by killing everyone off he will have total control. He thinks those of us he has condemned will cower in fear. But he has underestimated us once again."

"I don't get it," Harry said.

"We are going to overthrow the Ministry, Harry Potter," Blaise said.

"And you are going to help us."


End file.
